


The Cure For What Ails You

by MarshmarrowSans



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AND LOTS OF CRYING, Comfort Sex, Crying During Sex, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Established Relationship, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, Lots and lots of "I love you"s and praise, Praise Kink, Reader has a vagina, Sans Has Abandonment Issues, Sans Has Night Terrors, Sub Sans, dom reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmarrowSans/pseuds/MarshmarrowSans
Summary: It's been awhile since Sans has had a nightmare, and that alone makes the one he just had even worse than usual.  All he wants to do is go back to sleep and forget about it, but he's wide awake....  You know how to help with that!





	The Cure For What Ails You

In all the time you’d known Sans and all the nights he’d spent in your bed, you noticed a pattern that he never could have realized on his own.  
  
On nights when he was happy and free of the nightmares that he had long ago mentioned plaguing his sleep to the point of medical concern, he snored like a grizzly bear.  The happier and more comfortable he was, the louder he snored.  Needless to say, post-coital naps and nights of rest often resulted with the earth-shattering snoring occurring right by your ear.   But you didn’t mind.  You and Sans spent so many nights sleeping next to each other, you eventually got used to it, then even started to like it, then even started to _need_ it.  Your boyfriend’s snoring was your comfort sound, and trying to fall asleep without it never felt quite right, or _safe_.  Everything felt too quiet and still and dead.  
  
On the other hand…  
  
When Sans was having a bad night, his snoring would quiet considerably.  If he was having a nightmare, it would stop, as would his breathing altogether, sometimes.  In humans, that would be called sleep apnea, but the thing about your skeleton boyfriend was that he didn’t need to breathe for oxygen, only to ventilate the heat produced by his magic.  
  
In short, you always knew he was having a nightmare when he presented three specific symptoms:  
  
He wasn’t snoring.  
  
He wasn’t breathing.  
  
And his bones felt warm to the touch.  
  
On this particular night, all of these were occurring.  And when you sat up to get a better look at his face, it was scrunched up in…  some undiscernible, unpleasant expression.  Fear.  Anger.  Misery.  Nothing you could glean from it was a good emotion.  
  
Of course, at this point, you’d asked Sans what he wanted you to do if he had a nightmare—whether he wanted you to wake him up, or just hold him while he fought through it on his own.  He’d told you to wake him up, because, as he said, he’d probably end up waking up anyways, and he’d much rather wake up to your pretty face and caring touch than to the lack thereof.  
  
You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, then placed it palm-down on the center of his chest.  You began with your voice kept to a soft whisper.  
  
“Sans,” you tried to urge him to consciousness, “Wake up.  It’s just a bad dream.  You’re okay.”  
  
He didn’t wake up or respond at all right away.  You rubbed his chest a little, like you were trying to massage away his troubles.  Like you were trying to get him to breathe.  
  
“Come on, baby,” you urged him, a little louder, “You’re okay.”  
  
Suddenly, all at once, he snapped back to consciousness and life.  He breathed in deep with something that sounded like a gasp, a choking noise, and a snort all at once, his eyes shot open, pupilless, and he sat bolt upright in bed, clutching the sheets.  His head swiveled right first, looking out at your room, then back to the left, to look at you.  As he took in the sight of you, his pupils faded back in, hazy, dim and defeated.  He looked sad, but grateful for your presence.  
  
“…  they came back,” he confessed to the obvious in a tone much softer and higher-pitched than you were used to.  “the nightmares.  they came back, i…”  
  
You moved your hand to his shoulder and squeezed it lightly.  
  
“You’re okay,” you repeated, your voice returning to its original gentle whisper.  Whatever he was struggling to say, you made sure he knew he didn’t have to talk about it if he didn’t want to.  You wrapped him in a hug, confident in the fact that he knew he could talk to you about anything he needed to.  
  
“You’re okayyy,” you cooed one last time, hand rubbing soothing patterns up and down between his shoulder blades.  
  
You were always somewhat conscious of the fact that your boyfriend was much shorter than you, but it was moments like this that he _really_ seemed small.  When he pressed himself against you, tucked his face to your chest and curled up in your arms as if to use you as a shield against the rest of the world.  He seemed so, so small.  
  
“i know,” he tried to insist.  “’snothing.  don’t worry about it.”  
  
“I’ll always worry about you,” you insisted.  “Worrying is a part of caring.  And caring is a part of loving.  And I love you more than anything.”  
  
“i…”  There came a wet sniffling sound, and then the sensation of warm, wet tears soaking through the thin shirt you wore to bed.  “i know.  i’m sorry, this isn’t—i don’t, i—i don’t know what’s wrong with me—”  
  
“Nothing’s wrong with you.  You had a nightmare.  You’re upset and disoriented.”  You ran your hand up and down his arm a little, to drive home that you were here for him, as you laid out the facts for him.  It always helped to ground him in reality.  “Crying is a pretty natural response to that.  And it’s good for you.  So just cry for a little while.  It’s okay.”  
  
“…  i’m not upsetting you?  makin’ you feel weird with all this crap?”  
  
“Of course not.  I’m here for you.”  
  
“okay…”  
  
You got the feeling, as you held him, that he’d never had someone hold him while he cried before.  Maybe it was because he never used to let himself cry in front of anybody.  Maybe it was because nobody ever cared enough, or noticed that he needed it.  Probably, it was a combination of both.  Whatever the reason, what it resulted in was strangled breaths, panicked hiccups, desperate, grasping hands that clutched handfuls of cloth and flesh and didn’t let go, and a skeletal body all curled in on itself as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible.  
  
“i thought they were gone,” you were able to make of his broken, whispered words.  “haven’t had one in so long.  but they’re back.  oh, god…” he groaned, sounding almost in _pain_ , or maybe sick, like his throat was closing up, or like he might have to vomit, if he was even capable.  
  
“Do you want me to bring you to the bathroom?” you offered gently.  “We can run the bath, breathe in the warm air and draw pictures in the steam on the mirror like last time.”  
  
But even though that had helped him immensely before, he shook his head ‘no,’ without ever lifting it from your chest.  
  
“don’t move me,” he begged of you.  “don’t leave me here.  i can’t—not alone, not again, not like before, not without you, not anymore…”  
  
“Okay, I won’t.”  
  
But it was like he wasn’t fully listening.  He kept mumbling to you, some of his words overlapping with yours.  
  
“don’t go.  stay with me.  please.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere.  I promise.”  
  
“i’m scared…”  
  
When he trailed off this time, so did you.  All you did was hold him.  Hold him until his rigid, curled up body started to relax.  Until his grip on you loosened, and he started to mimic the way you rubbed up and down his spine.  You knew he felt that, felt it as your fingers traced carefully down every individual vertebra through the fabric of his favorite jacket, and he tried to replicate it.  Your vertebrae were, of course, shielded by a much smoother expanse of flesh, but he ran his hand up and down your back just the same.  Maybe because he wanted to show you that he was alert, that he was in the moment with you, and that he was okay.  Rattled, but okay.  
  
“…  I fucking hate bad dreams,” you sighed against the top of his head.  
  
“…  you’re tellin’ me.”  
  
“I hate seeing you so upset.  I just want you to be happy.”  
  
“i am.”  He took a deep breath, air from his nostrils warm against your damp shirt.  “i am right now.  but i just…  i just can’t—…”  He tensed up again, as if another wave was hitting him, and clasped his skull in his hands.  “i can’t get it out of my head.  soon as you stop talking to me, soon as you stop holding me and go back to sleep, i know, it’s just gonna come back.”  
  
You didn’t hesitate to promise, “Then I’ll stay up all night with you.”  
  
“no.”  
  
“Yes.  Sans, you need me.  And that’s alright.  How many times have I needed you?  And you were always there for me.  Every time.”  
  
“…”  
  
“Needing each other is a part of being in love.  So I’m staying up all night with you.  And I’m happy to do it.  Because I _love_ you.”  
  
Instinct took over, and he responded as he usually did, “i love you too.  i just…”  He sighed heavily against your chest.  
  
And his next words gave you the _best_ idea.  
  
“i just wanna go back to sleep.  be calm ‘till morning, turn this fuckin’ nightmare into nothing more n’ another bad memory.”  
  
Not to sound like a thot…  but you knew _exactly_ the kind of thing that could send a man into a comfortable, cozy, blissed-out sleep until morning.  
  
You tried to pull away to look him in the eyes, but just as you leaned back, he leaned forward with you to keep his face tucked against your chest.  One of his favorite, cozy little spots.  You weren’t about to tear that away from him.  You’d just have to make him want to do it on his own.  
  
But that was a pretty simple task.  All you had to do was start pressing soft, comforting kisses along the top of his skull, then down towards his cheek.  
  
The most beautiful sound bubbled up from Sans’ chest—not just a laugh, but a giggle.  He whined at you like you were doing something silly, even though you both knew it was completely normal, and entirely something the both of you wanted: “baaabe…”  
  
“I’m gonna kiss it better!”  
  
He leaned back at last, took in a breath to say something, and ended up doing nothing but sighing in relief and bliss when you kissed him on the mouth.  He was physically capable of talking while you kissed him—he’d done it before, plenty of times, to be silly—but most of the time, he didn’t like to.  It drew some of his concentration away from the physical and emotional sensations of kissing you.  
  
For the first time that night, he really seemed to improve.  As he got wrapped up in kissing you, in admiring the softness and warmth of your body and the compassion in your touch, he acted less like a wounded animal and more like the calm, mellowed-out boyfriend you knew and loved.  
  
It started to feel like a night just like any other, where you decided, for no real reason other than that you wanted to physically express your feelings for each other, to explore each other for a little while rather than just lie down and try to sleep.  It was comfortable.  Familiar.  Beautifully, perfectly just the same as so many times before.  His hands trailed down paths they’d travelled countless times as he kissed you: over your belly, across your waist towards your back, up to your shoulder blades, then back over the same path, but in reverse.  Once his hands had returned to your stomach, he trailed them upwards, over the mounds of your breasts.  
  
As always, he didn’t do it with any sort of sexual intention.  The idea of breasts as an erogenous zone never really stuck with him.  To him, they were just a soft, comfortable part of your body.  
  
Still, when you felt the unique ridges of that handsome skeleton’s fingers graze over your nipples, you couldn’t help but think back to countless nights of the best sex of your life, and that left you feeling understandably aroused.  
  
“heh.  so…  is it cold in here,” Sans’ voice rumbled, raspy from its sleep- and crying-induced strain, in your ears and against your lips, “or are you just happy to see me?”  
  
Oh.  Okay.  He was asking for it.  
  
He squealed with laughter as you dropped your weight on to him and laid him out flat on his back on the bed.  
  
“i’ll take that as you bein’ happy to see me.”  
  
You smirked down at him, leaving him completely unrestrained, but placing your hands on the mattress by either side of his head.  “And I’ll take this as you wanting me to fuck you until you’re so blissed out you can’t even remember what a nightmare _is_.”  
  
His bones were getting warm again, but for a different reason this time.  Excited magic was a necessity for any of the three Fs: fighting, fleeing, and fucking.  
  
“yes…” he whispered to you, softly at first, then a bit louder, as you kissed him on two of his favorite places to be kissed: his neck, then his clavicle.  “ _yes_.  i don’t want it, i _need_ it.”  He’d been happy so far to leave his arms splayed carelessly at his sides, until this moment, when he moved them longingly to your waist.  “when you’re taking me, making me feel that good, i can’t think about anything else, you know that?  please, baby.  make me forget it all.”  
  
As he spoke, you’d trailed kisses down the form of his clavicle through his shirt, but of course, you listened to him, too.  God damn.  He _needed_ it right now.  He needed the comfort, the ecstasy, the delirium, the physical reminder of your love and presence.  
  
Of course, you would never refuse him that.  Especially not when he needed it the most.  
  
You didn’t even want to waste time getting either of you fully naked.  You found his naked form just as handsome as it was endlessly intriguing, and he was very emphatic about feeling the same way about yours.  But it wasn’t a necessary part of it at all.  In fact, right now it seemed a bit superfluous.  
  
So you didn’t bother with it.  You pushed up against the bed, removed your body from his, hooked your fingers under the waistband of his shorts, and pulled them delicately over the broad curve of his pelvis.  
  
He didn’t seem to want to waste any time, either.  Because just as you were leaving his shorts around his ankles, a blue glow began to accumulate in the area you’d just exposed.  
  
“Damn,” you purred, moving back up his body with a knowing smirk on your face.  “You bounce back pretty quick for a boy who was just crying his eyes out.”  
  
“heh.”  He tried to act unruffled, but as always, the blue blush on his cheeks gave him away.  He was a little embarrassed.  “can ya really blame me, though?  i mean, look at you.  and listen to yourself.  you’re a friggin’ goddess, and you’re sitting here, kissing n’ touching me all over, saying you’re gonna fuck me so good it’ll make all the pain go away.  fuck…” he groaned, bucking up desperately against your thigh.  His cock was fully-formed already, and it was rock-hard.  
  
The nice thing about magical genitals was that they were a lot easier to control by will than biological ones.  You were pretty sure no human man could have a stiffy that impressive just minutes after sobbing helplessly in your arms.  
  
“do it already.  i don’t wanna do more foreplay,” his hoarse voice begged of you.  “just fuck me into the happiest coma of my life.”  
  
You couldn’t help yourself.  You giggled at his downright bratty demand.  
  
But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to oblige.  
  
“Hold your horses, Sans.  I’ve still got my shorts—ooh!”  
  
Before you could even finish your sentence, your eager little bastard of a boyfriend grabbed you by the hips and started grinding against you through your clothes.  
  
It wasn’t what you were going for, but the friction still felt pretty good, and the fact that he had absolutely nothing covering his magical appendage left it with ample opportunity to wedge between your legs and stimulate you.  
  
“Suh—Sans!  Jee-sus!  What are you gonna do, bore a hole through my clothes?”  
  
He laughed, breathy and eager, though once you scolded him, he did slow down until he was holding you by the hips and making more of a gentle rocking motion against you with his own than a jarring, jerking motion like before.  
  
“it would be the most glorious glory hole there ever was…” he mumbled dreamily.  
  
“You know, Sans.  Sometimes you’re lucky I even still pork you when you act so goofy.”  
  
“oh, i know.  luckiest man in the world, baby.  that’s me.”  
  
He stopped grinding against you and took his hands off your hips to point at himself with both thumbs, and you took that small opportunity to shimmy your own shorts, along with your panties, down to your ankles.  You would’ve been happy to go for a bit more kissing and touching, maybe let him play with your pussy and clit while you stroked his cock, but he said he didn’t want any more foreplay, and this was about him.  
  
So without further ado, you lowered yourself on to him, letting out a soft, hungry groan of approval to match his as you did.  
  
“stars,” he whispered, voice dipping low, “you’re always so tight.  feels fuckin’ amazing.  every time…”  
  
“I’m not tight,” you smiled down at him, pinching his cheek.  “You’re just girthy.  And that feels amazing for me, too.”  
  
It really did.  Nothing made you feel quite so full, quite so satisfied in the end, as your boyfriend.  Not even your favorite toys.  
  
You gave both of you that nice little moment to soak in the feeling of him first entering you.  But once that moment passed, you didn’t start out slow.  With your hands resting on his chest, fingers curling around the ribs you could feel through his shirt, you began to jerk your hips forward and back at your natural pace.  Out, until you felt the tip of his cock just about to slip out of you.  Then in, until your flesh slapped against the bare bones of his pelvis.  
  
Whatever semblance of confidence Sans might have been hoping to maintain, he lost it, as always, the moment you started to full-on, down-and-dirty _fuck_ him.  He whispered “oh, god,” went limp (except for one part of him) in your arms, and let his body move smoothly in rhythm with yours.  He was leaving you to do all the work, as he very often did, but you certainly couldn’t blame him this time.  He needed something effortless, mindless, yet all-consuming, something to sweep him away like water in a river pulling his motionless body downstream.  
  
It wasn’t that he didn’t care about your enjoyment.  It was that he trusted you.  He trusted you more than he trusted himself to do what felt best for both of you in situations like this.  
  
You almost could’ve believed that, somehow, he’d managed to fall asleep underneath you, from how his body clung so loosely to yours and yielded to your every movement, except for the fact that every time you looked at his face, he was gazing back at yours, with his expression just slightly, cutely scrunched up, both pleasured and intense with concentration.  You never caught him looking away.  Not even to gaze at the rest of your body, and definitely not to look at himself or anywhere else in the room.  He just wanted to see your face right now.  
  
When you realized what he was doing, and that eye contact stretched out for several seconds on end, his gentle, tired smile grew a little into something more heartfelt.  Without a word spoken between you, you both understood that in this moment, he was basking in the simple fact of your presence in his life, and how safe and happy he was with you.  He was hesitant, but after leaving them at either side of his skull for awhile, he raised his hands toward you, lingered at your neck, then cupped your cheeks in them and slowly pulled you down into a kiss, careful to coax you into more gentle movements so that you didn’t end up hitting your foreheads together.  
  
“Mmh—” you let out a little noise, the kiss, as sweet as it was, throwing a bit of an awkward pause into what you were trying to do.  But you laughed softly against his teeth and kissed him back, stilling the repetitive movements of your hips while his cock was fully buried inside you.  
  
Feeling you momentarily still in his arms, Sans didn’t voice a single complaint.  Seeming to take it as a lull for you to appreciate the kiss, he wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you closer.  The soft, slightly pilled fabric of his sleeves rubbed against the back of your neck, and as you breathed in between the kisses that placed your face in such close proximity to his, you processed the familiar mixture of pine and ketchup, along with a faint hint of the bone cologne he’d used a few days ago when he tried (and succeeded) to woo you into going to a fancy restaurant in casual clothes with him.  
  
He breathed in, too, like tasting fresh air for the first time, and you wondered if he was sniffing you, too—God, you two were like a couple of weird little animals sometimes.  But when he let it back out, he whined, and just as you took it as a sign of sexual need, just as you were about to reassure him that you were going to give him the release he needed, he tucked his head under your chin, and you could feel it again.  Not just in the telltale, warm wetness that trickled down the sensitive skin of your neck, but through his ragged breathing and the slight trembling in his bones.  
  
“What’s the matter?”  You were ready to stop, or to pull him closer.  Whatever he needed.  But his quiet, hoarse reply requested no such thing.  
  
“nothin’.  not when you’re with me.  i’m just really happy.”  
  
Huh.  Well you’d be damned.  
  
You’d never seen Sans cry from _happiness_ before.  
  
You couldn’t hold back the smile on your lips even if you wanted to.  You pulled him into a sitting position, and he hiccupped a little—adorably, you might add—as you did.  He turned his head to the side, so his cheek was resting against your chest as you held him against you by his back with one hand and cradled his skull with the other.  Gravity and the shift in position worked together to nudge him into a new angle inside you, one that made both of you shudder with mutual need.  
  
He mumbled your name, but the questioning lilt at the end told you that he was addressing you, not just moaning in mindless pleasure.  
  
“Yes, Sans?”  
  
“you’ll never leave me, right?”  
  
Your cheeks flushed pink at just the same moment that your heart dropped in your chest.  He sounded weak.  Vulnerable.  Defeated.  Abandoned.  A lot of people must have abandoned him in his life, for him to come to you in such a condition, for him to be so afraid of opening himself up to you, then so afraid of losing you, to the point that it was sometimes irrational.  His parents, probably.  You never heard a word about them.  A lot of friends, too.  
  
And here you were.  His first romantic partner.  His soulmate.  
  
Of course he was scared of losing you.  Of course he wanted your reassurance.  Losing you would be a special and hellish kind of pain he’d never felt before.  
  
“…  i, uh.  i mean.  i know i’m not great.  i don’t mean you’re not allowed to leave me as a boyfriend, if…  you ever decide the puns and pranks are too much, or i’m too lazy, or you can’t stand spending forever with someone who pretty much never wants to do anything other than cowgirl position in the sack—”  
  
“Sans,” you reassured him before he could go on an endless self-deprecating rant, “I’m never leaving you.”  
  
Now, as you glanced down, you could see he had a blue blush to match your pink one.  
  
“…  thanks for sayin’ that.”  
  
“I mean it.”  
  
“…”  
  
His silence told you one thing.  Set one goal into your mind, along with the determination to fulfill it.  
  
Convince him.  
  
You started by tightening your pelvic muscles, squeezing around his cock where it was still buried inside you, and whispering by the side of his skull, “I love you.”  
  
He moaned and tensed up, not when you squeezed around him, but when you said those three little words, and again, as the response was so familiar and obvious to him at this point that it was practically reflex, he told you, “love you too.”  
  
He removed his arms from around your neck and nudged your arms out of the way so that he could tuck his under your arm pits and hug you with his hands resting on your back.  You giggled softly at the adjustment.  
  
“Did your arms get tired?”  
  
“heheh.  yeahhh.”  
  
You put your hands on his shoulders instead.  He was shorter than you, so it was easy for you to do.  And you couldn’t quite bring yourself to start out as fast this time as you did before—you knew he wasn’t, but he _looked_ so fragile right now.  So you started out slow, with more of a forward and back motion at first, then, gradually, up and down.  Despite sitting still inside you for so long, his cock still glided in and out of you with ease once you resumed your movements.  
  
But if Sans thought that you were about to wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am him now without another word of comfort, he was dead wrong.  You used the perfect position you were in right now to your advantage— your lips stayed by the side of his skull, in just the right spot to whisper to him.  
  
“I’d have to be crazy to ever leave you, baby boy.”  
  
“oh, g—ahhh, s—stars, y’know i love it when you ca—ah, babe…  oh, god, please, fuck me harder, i wanna cum inside ya…”  
  
His gasping and his desperate, broken words were enough to make you fuck him harder even if he hadn’t specifically requested it.  Even as you did, even as excitement crept into your voice and raised its pitch and made it airy with your breath, you kept your words calm, calculated and even.  
  
“I’ll let you,” you promised him.  “It’s all yours.  _I’m_ yours.  You hear me?  I love you so damn much, I’ll _give_ myself to you.  Body and soul.  Can’t you feel it?  My soul?  How much I adore you?  How perfect you are to me?”  
  
Just when you thought the waterworks were over, he choked on another sob and grasped desperately at the fabric of your shirt with his fingertips.  “ _yes!_ ” he let out, either a confirmation or an exclamation of pleasure, or maybe both at once.  “oh, stars, yes, i _can_ …”  
  
“Then I don’t have to tell you, but I will anyways.”  You squeezed his shoulders with your hands, then ran them down the shapes of his ribs you could feel through his shirt, then back up as you gushed to him, “I think your jokes are funny even when they’re not.  I wanna help you prank our friends ‘til the end of time.  I’m just as lazy as you, and I love it.  Your sex is so good, I can’t go a day without fantasizing about it.  And I think you’re the smartest, most _absurdly_ attractive guy in the world.”  
  
“i know, i can…  i can feel that, when i listen to your soul i just—nngh, god—how?  i don’t understand how.  how any of this is happening, how you see anything in me but a—ah!  _ah_!”  He cried out, muffled against your shoulder, just as you dropped all your weight on him and let him hilt in you, then continued at a pace even more vigorous than before.   
  
“If nobody else will tell you how amazing, how fucking _irreplaceable_ you are, then I will,” you told him, your tone downright aggressive, fueled with the passion you were currently using to mercilessly plow him into the mindblowing climax he needed to relieve all this buildup, all this miserable pleasure.  “Because Sans Gaster, you’re my man, my partner, my sunshine, my _world_.  You’re the only one for me, and I’d have to be a fool to ever leave you, because you’ve filled a space in my heart that was always empty before I met you, and would forever be empty again if you ever left.”  
  
“i’d never leave,” he cried, both literally and in terms of volume, against your shoulder.  “i need you so much more than my dumb, awkward memelord ass can ever put into words, i swear, i do.”  
  
You smiled down at him warmly, even though he was way too far gone to lift his head to look back at you.  
  
“You’re close, aren’t you, sugar skull?”  
  
“yeh-heh-hesss!”  
  
“Tell me when.”  
  
“wh…  when i’m about to…?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“s—soon.  close.  it’s close.  don’t…”  He laughed, breathy and desperate, “don’t toy with me today.  y’know, with the you-can’t-cum-yet stuff.  seriously, just please lemme…”  
  
You kissed him, once at the top of his skull, then several more times, leading down to where his cheek disappeared into your shirt.  “I gotcha.  Don’t you worry.  You need me to play nice, I’ll play nice.  Anything you need, baby, I’ll give it to you.”  
  
“oh, _yeah_ …”  Sans wasn’t usually one to make requests, let alone demands, but…  “kiss me.  fuck me n’ don’t stop.  tell me you love me.  call me your…  that name again.”  
  
Awwwh.  It was _too_ fucking cute how shy he got about liking that name.  
  
He leaned back a little for you, anticipating your next attempt to kiss him on the teeth.  He moaned against your lips and did all he could to kiss you back, which wasn’t much, but it _was_ noticeable—the way he tilted his head and nuzzled his mouth against you like he couldn’t get enough.  You had long understood that nuzzling was a skeleton’s way of kissing you.  
  
And when you pulled away, you took a moment, now that he wasn’t pressed against your chest, to admire the love of your life.  
  
He was unflattering as hell.  Sweating buckets, with a weird, blissed-out expression on his face, panting like he’d run a marathon, chubby, short and unkempt, clothes stained with sweat and other substances.  God, he was gorgeous.  He was perfect.  You looked at his face and knew you’d never trade him for anything.  
  
“I love you, Sans,” you told him, channeling all the emotion you felt in that moment into your words, watching the joy fill his expression when you told him that.  “I’d never do anything to hurt you.  I wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t betray you, wouldn’t lie to you.  You’re my little goofball.  And I love you _so much_.”  
  
The look on his face, the fire in his soul, the way his head lolled back and his eyes shut and his smile grew, it all told you what his words did before they were spoken.  “oh, fuck!  _yes_!  h-heh!  _heheh_!  keep goin’, babe, don’t stop, _don’t stop_ , it’s cummin’…!”  
  
You hadn’t felt too awfully close to finishing, but hearing his voice so impassioned and desperate rocketed you straight up to the edge, and before you knew it, before you could stop it, it all sent you into a startling and intense orgasm of your own.  Up until now, you’d been the calm one, the stable one, holding him close, reassuring him and keeping your head level to calm him.  But for now, for just this moment, you let that slip away.  You pushed him down on to his back on the bed, mounted him, and bounced on his cock just as hard as you needed to ride it out.  
  
Needless to say, with as much empathy as there was flowing between the two of you in your soulmateship and with how close to the edge you’d worked him at this point, Sans wasn’t far behind.  His hips stuttered into motion of their own, his thrusts sudden, hard, and sloppy.  He was sobbing for all the reasons he never had before—pleasure, joy, love, relief—tears streaming down his cheeks as you veritably fucked the negativity out of him.  He managed to pump his first, most powerful spurts of cum deep inside you, but overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion, he barely even seemed to notice when an especially haphazard thrust of his hips made his cock slip out of you and he ended up fucking your sopping wet slit and releasing the last few streams of semen on to your pubic mound, your navel, and his own, already-messy shirt.  
  
And then, everything slowed.  Slowed, but didn’t stop.  
  
You seemed to make the non-verbal but mutual decision to leave his now-limp cock resting against his body.  You knew the sex was over, but your hips continued to move a little longer, languidly, tracing motions from moments prior at a sluggish pace.  He let go of you, relaxed back on his pillow with an arm over his eyes, and he wasn’t sobbing anymore like he was at the moment of climax, but his little sniffles told you that those overwhelming positive feelings weren’t constrained to sex.  No, sex had helped bring them out, but you alone, no matter what you were doing, even just cuddling him, were enough to put them there.  
  
If you thought his voice was raspy before, it was twice as much so now.  He sounded like he could barely speak, like he was starting to lose his voice from all this, and his nose was stuffed and leaking from all the tears he’d been letting out, both happy and sad (but mostly happy).  
  
“thanks, babe.  sorry for cryin’ my eyes out.  it was a tough night.  and then it was one of the best of my life.  and both of those had me cryin’ like a bitch, so i’m sorry.”  
  
You flopped on your side, and pulled him with you to cuddle.  
  
“Hey.  It’s like I said earlier.  Crying is natural, and good for you.  I told you that you could cry for a little while.”  You smiled, pulling him up on the bed so you could have a turn nuzzling your head against his chest.  He wrapped his arms around you and held you there gratefully.  “You don’t have to apologize for it.  I’m glad you found the strength and comfort to let it all out.”  
  
“yeah.  i found you.  i just mean…  y’know, you were tryin’ to give me a good time, and crying’s not sexy.”  
You smirked and shrugged your shoulders a little bit.  “It _can_ be.”  
  
“weirdo.”  
  
“Goober.”  
  
“crazy-ass dominatrix.”  
  
“Ketchup-guzzling gremlin.”  
  
“love of my life.”  
  
You hummed in contentment and quietly agreed:  
  
“Love of my life.”  
  
You cuddled him for awhile like you always did, gently and calmly, with an extra helping of loving little touches.  It didn’t matter how many times you touched and explored each other’s bodies, you still touched each other every time like it was the first and last time you ever would.  There was never a lapse in either of your memories as to how grateful you were to have each other.  
  
You were expecting a bit more pillow talk.  You tended to have quiet conversation for a little while, until you both agreed it was time to sleep or until one of you (usually Sans) nodded off mid-conversation.  But as you opened your mouth to offer him something to eat, drink, or wipe the sweat off his brow, he interrupted you with a snore.  
  
A long, low, grizzly bear, earth-shattering snore.  
  
Considering the circumstances, that was the most beautiful sound in the world to you.


End file.
